The Extraordinary Potioneers
by jaderook
Summary: One Professor, four students, and forced participation in an organization none of them want to be in.  What could possibly go wrong?
1. And Other Duties As Assigned

**The Extraordinary Potioneers**

**Summary: **One Professor, four students, and forced participation in an organization none of them want to be in. What could possibly go wrong?

**Author's Note and Disclaimer: **_I own nothing. Everything you recognize likely comes from J. K. Rowling (and Dr. Seuss in one case). If you don't recognize it, then it likely comes from my own warped imagination._

_Think of this as a series of one-shots that fit together. There are no warnings except for the use of occasional foul language, so I'm playing it safe by rating it T. _

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy my story. Please review, and thanks for reading._

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><p><strong>Chapter One: And Other Duties As Assigned<strong>

"Ah, Severus! Good to see you! Good to see you!"

Slughorn's jovial hand slapped Severus on the back, and Severus could barely maintain his aloof demeanor.

"To think I'll be back at Hogwarts this year! Well, it was Harry Potter that decided me, really. Couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts after meeting _him_. The boy could certainly use my connections to help him along. It wouldn't be right of me to hold back on The-Boy-Who-Lived!"

Severus definitely felt a migraine coming on. For Albus Dumbledore to even entertain the notion that Severus Snape _wanted_ to attend the annual conference of _The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers_ with him and Horace Slughorn was unfathomable. This type of thing apparently fell under the category of 'and other duties as assigned' in his teaching contract, as had once been condescendingly explained to him by Albus. That one seemingly innocuous clause regularly caused him trouble.

The whole Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy debacle and Dumbledore having a blackened hand apparently wasn't enough to daunt the Headmaster from wanting to use Ministry money for the purpose of staff professional development before the term.

Even though they were already waiting with their hands on the Portkey, which looked suspiciously like one of the socks that Granger menace used to knit for house-elves, Severus thought it prudent to attempt a last ditch effort to get out of it.

"I'm not even teaching Potions this year, Albus."

"Neither am I. Have you ever been to Grosvenor House, Severus?"

Severus immediately perked up. A posh five-star hotel in Muggle London- seriously? This was unprecedented in the Society's history. Usually they just booked the Leaky Cauldron and had done with it. Though Severus wouldn't really know, as he hadn't actually attended an annual conference in ages. He always told Albus he was going and then skived off.

"Five-star, you say? We're at a five-star hotel this year?" he asked incredulously as the Portkey activated.

When they arrived at their destination, Severus only surmised that he did not care for Albus Dumbledore's sense of humor- at all. They left him holding the sock.

"No, I merely asked if you'd ever been there, not that _we_ were going to go there."

The conference was at the thrice-damned Leaky Cauldron once again.

Slughorn laughed delightedly.

"Almost had me going there, Albus, and I'm on the planning committee!"

Severus was already grinding his teeth in frustration. He had Dumbledore on his right and Slughorn on his left, and they both practically goose-stepped him over to the registration table.

"Gladys! My dear, _you're_ looking lovely. Not a day over twenty-nine!"

The elderly witch, who was running the registration table, tittered like a schoolgirl as Horace Slughorn fawned over her, and Severus thought he was going to vomit. Albus apparently caught the look on Severus' face because he quickly stuck a 'Hello, My Name is: Sev Snape' badge on his frock coat, shoved an itinerary and a complimentary gift bag into his hands, and dragged him into the Leaky Cauldron's meeting room with his good hand.

"Severus! Where's your fez? It's required dress-code," Dumbledore asked, while peering at Severus over his half-moon spectacles.

Severus sneered. "Albus, I am _not_ wearing one of those infernal hats."

Albus Dumbledore looked supremely unconcerned and continued on as if Severus hadn't said anything at all. "Oh, but this just won't do. You must wear a fez. No matter. It's a good thing I'm a dab hand at Transfiguration- or so I've been told."

With that and a wave of Dumbledore's wand, Severus was wearing a red fez with a black tassel. It was absolutely intolerable. If he had been inclined to forget why he always skived off, it was the fez that reminded him. Not that Severus was inclined to forget. His only consolation was that everyone else looked just as ridiculous as he did.

Slughorn caught up to them garbed in his own requisite fez and looking entirely too excited about it. The fool had even added a smoking jacket to his ensemble. What was next? Rides on flying carpets? Severus looked around in disgust. He had to be the youngest wizard in the room, which was yet another reason he usually skived off- he didn't like being treated as a perpetual adolescent by a geriatric group of witches and wizards.

"Gladys made sure we got a good table- not that there was ever any doubt we'd get a good one!" Slughorn told them both in that same jovial tone that irked Severus to no end.

Slughorn led them over to a table in a corner near the front. It had a white tablecloth, and was surrounded by three very comfortable looking armchairs. Prominently placed on top of the table was a very large hookah that already had hot coals. Severus saw Slughorn rub his hands together before picking out and sitting in the comfiest looking of the chairs and immediately propping his feet up on a little ottoman.

"This is the life, eh? Shame this is the first time you've joined us in about five years, Severus!"

Albus, who had just sat down in his own chair, after adjusting the upholstery to a ridiculous looking chintz pattern, eyed Severus sharply.

For his part, Severus merely glared at Horace Slughorn. The man had done it on purpose! If looks could kill, then Slughorn would be dead. Slughorn met his eyes and Severus could have sworn the man smirked at him when Albus wasn't looking.

Dumbledore's face had taken on that disappointed look, which also irritated Severus to no end. Then again, many things irritated Severus.

"We'll definitely be revisiting this little revelation at another time, Severus."

Severus merely gave a non-committal huff before sitting in the remaining armchair at the table. The cushion was set too low and was entirely too lumpy to be comfortable. It figured they'd leave him with the defective one.

After sitting down, Severus attempted to let all of the conversations flow around him. One old wizard walked by and jammed his walker up against Severus' armchair and then had the audacity to glare at him.

"No decency to get out of the way!" the old man ranted.

Severus ignored him.

It was then that the lights flickered off and the room was awash in candlelight, which almost would have been nice, but for two, no, three things. One, the old wizard with the walker was still trying to pry his jammed walker from where he'd got it stuck on Severus' chair- now in the dark. Two, Severus, despite being in the dark, was still at the wretched event. Three, a spotlight came on and was pointed directly at a stage.

Usually, Severus didn't mind a bit of entertainment. He wouldn't go so far as to consider himself a patron of the arts, but he appreciated them. He'd been to the symphony, to Broadway musicals, to the ballet, and to more than a few plays in his time. It didn't matter that most of those times weren't voluntary on his part- it was a downside to knowing Lucius Malfoy and 'going way back.' Severus considered it an unfortunate consequence for his youthful indiscretions of hanging out with the wrong crowd. Regardless, what began occurring on the stage was in a different category altogether and was reminiscent of watching a train wreck.

A grey haired wizard with a handlebar mustache, a bowtie, and who obviously bought his robes from the same place where Molly Weasley got her youngest son's Yule Ball robes, came onto the stage to great applause. All of this was bad enough, but what really sealed the deal for Severus was the fact that he did it to incidental music.

Incidental music! At first, Severus wasn't certain, but as the man spoke, introduced himself, told jokes, and paced, the music was matching what he was doing and saying. It was intolerable and Severus was determined to attempt to ignore that too.

With the final thought of, 'Forget this rubbish,' Severus took a book out of his robes. He moved his armchair closer to the table, lifted the tablecloth slightly and placed the book in this lap. It wasn't the most comfortable position from which to read, but if he angled his wand _just_ so, he might be able to read effectively by wand light under the table.

Severus had read one full page, his ears had almost relegated the incidental music to a form of very annoying white noise, and he was at a point where the book was getting interesting, when _it_ happened.

_It_ was the sound of a tin being clicked open. Then there was the rustle of the paper inside the tin. Then there was _that_ sound- a terrible sucking noise. It was the sound of a sherbet lemon in Albus' mouth.

"Tsk. Severus!" a voice whispered next to him. The tin made its way into his line of sight. "Tsk. Do you want a sherbet lemon? Tsk."

Severus sighed.

"No, thank you."

"Are you certain? Tsk."

"Quite."

Then Severus had to endure Albus leaning over in front of him to whisper loudly to someone at the next table over. He was still holding the tin out.

"Tsk. Hector!"

"Eh? Who's that?" the old codger at the next table called back.

"It's Albus!"

"Albus?"

"Tsk. Yes! Sherbet lemon?"

"What?"

"Do. You. Want. A. Sherbet. Lemon?" Albus whispered even more loudly and slowly. He rattled the tin.

"Sherbet lemon? Oh, yes, thank you, Albus."

"Severus, would you?"

The tin was rattled directly in Severus' face and he barely managed not to rudely snatch it before passing it on. Then, when it finally made its way around back to him, Severus passed the tin to Albus, who made a rather big deal out of making sure Horace got a sherbet lemon too, and then clicked it shut and put it away again.

"You know, I think I need to stretch my legs a bit. I'll be right back, Severus," Albus told him rather loudly.

Severus watched Albus leave the room and go out towards the bar. Lucky him.

"You know that's code for going to the toilet. Then he'll have to go to the bar and talk to everyone and get a drink with an umbrella. He'll be ages," Slughorn said as soon as Albus had left.

"I'm assuming you want something, Horace?" Severus asked in his driest tone.

"If it's not too much trouble, Severus. You know I wanted to stay retired. So Albus has agreed that you're to still brew the potions needed for the hospital wing."

"As if I didn't have enough to do! I thought it would be your job now," Severus groused.

Horace took a big puff from the hookah and smirked at Severus.

"I mean to do as little as possible. I've put in my time. I'm not brewing for the school. I'm not having anything to do with Head of House duties, even to relieve you on occasion. I'm not supervising Hogsmeade days. I'm not doing any patrols for curfew. And I'm certainly not going to be reigning over any detentions! If Albus would allow it, I'd not grade papers either."

"Well, that's just super. How nice for you."

Severus knew this would happen. And, as per usual, he'd be the one to pick up the slack. Severus hid any further frustrations he had by picking up his complimentary gift bag and looking inside. Inside was a new stirring rod, an issue of the society publication (which was the only reason for being a member as far as Severus was concerned), a charmed record of Celestina Warbeck's greatest hits, and a shot-sized bottle of Old Ogden's Firewhisky.

"And now, the moment we've all been waiting for! Our special drawing!"

Severus rolled his eyes. With his luck it would be a year's supply of magical denture cream. He tuned out the hubbub on the stage. Considering everyone's attention was at the front of the room, Severus immediately filched the shot-sized bottle of Firewhisky from Albus' gift bag and was in the process of taking Slughorn's, when the inevitable happened.

"Severus Snape!"

A spotlight was immediately on him and luckily only Slughorn caught on to what he'd done, because he grinned wickedly at him.

"Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, eh, Severus?"

Severus was gritting his teeth by now, and was sure it looked like a constipated grin.

"Well, come on up to the stage, young man, and claim your prize!"

Severus swept up to the stage in a swirl of black robes and stood there with a glare on his face.

"Our youngest member! How exciting! Severus has just won a voucher for a tour of Old Ogden's Distillery, where he will get to select his own barrel of Ogden's Own Special Brew. It's small batch. The barrels used are particularly rare for a magical whisky, as they are charred oak barrels that have once held select Muggle Bourbon Whiskey, shipped all the way from Kentucky! There are distinct notes of vanilla and cinnamon, and it is considered one of the best tasting whiskys on the market. Retail price is currently 100 galleons per bottle."

Wait- _what?_ This was bloody fantastic! His own _barrel_ of whisky! Severus felt his glare turning into a real smile. Not only could he drink the most sought after magical whisky anytime he wanted, he could use it as leverage against his co-workers. He looked straight at Slughorn and gave him a shark-like grin. Horace would cave- he'd have him and all of his other co-workers doing his bidding soon enough.

Then, the other shoe dropped.

"Of course, we couldn't make this too easy! There's a catch," bowtie man chortled.

Wasn't there always?

"We've decided to tie this year's prize into our annual membership drive! Severus, in order for you to receive your extraordinarily expensive barrel of whisky, you will have to personally bring more new members into the society before the first of January, than –" Bowtie man stopped to draw another name out of his hat. "Horace Slughorn! Otherwise, the prize will go to him!"

Severus wanted to rip the man's bowtie off and shove it down his throat. He glanced down at where Horace was sitting, only to see the older wizard laughing delightedly, and being smacked on the back by the others sitting hear him.

"Show that young devil you've still got it, Horace!"

"May the best wizard win!"

As soon as Severus was seated once again, Albus came back to the table, holding a drink decked out with a pink umbrella in his good hand.

"What did I miss?"

"It looks like I'm going to start the Slug Club back up, Albus!"

"Oh! That's wonderful, Horace! The students always enjoyed that. It's good for them to mix with students of other houses."

Horace sent Severus a smug smirk. Did he really think he'd win with his Slug Club leading the way? Not if Severus had anything to say about it. Just because Horace would feed the students supper and stroke their egos by inviting them to parties to meet famous people didn't mean he would find anyone interested in joining the society. Membership had been down for years. Oh, who was he kidding? Horace had the best chance of getting new members among the students, and Severus knew it.

No, what Severus needed was a plan. He needed a plan that would get him some small term gains even if he lost the war. Then, Severus got an idea. An awful idea. Severus got a wonderful, _awful_ idea! And he smiled. An awful smile. Severus smiled a wonderful, awful smile!

"What's that you're doing there, Severus?"

Horace sounded a bit panicked. As well he should, Severus thought.

"You'll see, Horace."

He might not win the whisky, but Severus sure as hell would at least have students doing his grading, brewing the school potions, and doing whatever else he could dream up- so long as he didn't call it detention. He just had to keep Albus in the dark. The man didn't approve of student assistants. Horace may have had the ambition of twenty Slytherins, but Severus came out on top when it came to the cunning.

He held one of the shot-sized whisky bottles he'd filched throughout the evening- he'd got at least five up to the stage and six on the way back- and held it up to the light. It was truly a lovely amber color. He tore the top off with his teeth and drank it in one go. Leisurely sipping? Not in present company.

"Brilliant."

Maybe he'd even have a hit on the hookah too. He was certain that there wasn't just tobacco in there.


	2. Student Victim Junior Potioneer 1

**Chapter Two: Student Victim/Junior Potioneer Number 1 (Slytherin)**

It had been, Pansy surmised, the last straw. Draco Malfoy and she were through and by the time she was done the whole of Hogwarts would know it. She didn't need him anyway. Holding the old and very beat up brown leather day planner in her hands, she contemplated what she was about to do. Was it too rash? That thought was quickly drowned out by the desire to make him pay. Then, the Giant Squid surfaced and all thought left her mind. It was now or never.

The tableau of girl, the graceful arc of the day planner as it flew through the air, the Giant Squid's giant mouth eagerly consuming said day planner from the air, the brilliant color of the sunset over the lake, and it all coinciding perfectly with the Slytherin Quidditch team stomping by after practice- well- the scene was soon to be preserved in the form of detailed gossip for those who hadn't been there for it. It was simultaneously Pansy Parkinson's greatest moment of notoriety and her greatest moment of failure to date. She was caught and she didn't care. It was unforgiveable.

As if in slow motion, Draco Malfoy had lunged toward the day planner, dropping his expensive broom like the rubbish it was in comparison. The Giant Squid was long gone with his day planner by the time he had fallen into the lake. It was also Draco Malfoy's greatest moment of failure to date. His lists, his dreams, his ambitions- all were gone in a single moment. He had carelessly left his day planner laying about for the taking. His arrogance had finally cost him. It was unimaginable. At least his hair had gleamed in the dying sunlight. Beauty could always be found in unfortunate circumstances.

A Slytherin who got caught red-handed wasn't cunning. What is more, a Slytherin without ambition wasn't a Slytherin worth their salt. The day planner was the classic symbol for the goal-oriented.

A very wet Draco Malfoy confronted a very smirking Pansy Parkinson. Pansy noticed with an almost clinical detachment that he was gasping for air and had she actually seen tears in his eyes? She quickly deduced that it was merely the lake water and the fading sunlight playing tricks on her eyes. She would _not _feel guilt.

"You. Utter. Bitch," Draco quietly seethed. "That day planner belonged to my grandfather. You'll pay for that, Parkinson."

A legacy planner, as had long been suspected then. Old, worn, proud- he never would have bought a new day planner- not for all the galleons in Gringotts. It was exactly why she took it.

Someone in the crowd made the _hell hath no fury like a woman scorned_ comment to general male laughter, and it struck her as being ever so typical. She was tired of it.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but only Avada Kedavra can kill me," she taunted.

"Oh, shove off, Parkinson!" the other voice sounded in response.

Montague. Pansy had never cared for Montague, useless waste of space that he was. Honestly, who was hopeless enough to be stuck in a broom cupboard, toilet, vanishing cabinet, whatever the hell it was, for weeks? She didn't need his snide remarks. Hell, she didn't need any of them.

Find your true friends, _indeed_. What a load of rubbish that all turned out to be.

Pansy ran. She didn't care where she was going. If it was toward the castle or away from it, it seemed to no longer matter. Her vision was blurred, her cheeks were wet, and she vaguely wondered how it had all come to this?

Apparently, she was a creature of habit, because she found herself somewhere in the dungeons when she stopped. Rather, she was stopped by a spell in the corridor near Snape's office. It was not a pleasant way to be reminded of one's surroundings.

As if summoning the man by thinking of him, she vaguely noticed that he was on the other end of the long ebony wand that was responsible for stopping her high speed careening down the corridor.

"Out for a stroll are we, Miss Parkinson?"

"Yes, thought I might, Professor," she responded through a stream of tears.

Snape took one look at her face and sighed.

"In."

He opened the door to his office and motioned for Pansy to precede him inside. She obediently walked inside only to see Snape point to a chair on the other side of his desk.

"Sit."

She did that too. Pansy began wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her robes in a vain attempt to compose herself. Snape sat down behind his desk and contemplated her over steepled fingers.

"What did you do?" he asked softly.

She immediately started bawling.

"Wh-why do you as-sume I did any-thing, Professor?"

Snape merely raised an eyebrow and waited. Pansy bawled harder.

"If any-thing, I-_I'm_ the victim here!"

Snape's dark eyes glittered at her. If she didn't know better, she would have said the man was amused. He remained resolutely silent and she knew what he was doing. It was supposed to make her uncomfortable enough to confess. That she knew and he knew that she knew was irrelevant, because it was working. She had always been susceptible to this particular tactic.

She let out a particularly pathetic sob.

"Oh, Professor! He- he told me- he told me he didn't love me any-more!"

She chanced a glance at Snape who actually rolled his eyes at her.

"And I- I was just so an-gry!"

She wondered how long Snape would remain silent. Usually, he was known for monologuing. He was certainly not the most patient of people. She attempted to compose herself again.

"Perhaps I acted rashly."

The professor noticeably perked up at this information and gave her a shrewd look.

"Rash is just a fancy word for-"

"Gryffindor, I know, Professor," Pansy supplied meekly.

"Yes. However, that apparently didn't stop you from doing- whatever it was you did. So, I repeat, Miss Parkinson, what did you do?"

Pansy, who would purposefully evade until the last, felt a surge of anger at Snape's question. Wasn't she justified in her actions? Hadn't Draco wronged her one too many times?

"He deserved it! Swanning about- cool as you please- as if he was the most important wizard to ever grace Hogwarts, with no time at all to spare for the rest of us. Arrogant, self-important toe-rag!" Pansy spat disgustedly.

Snape's face had taken on a surprised look, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"So, whatever you did has to do with _Potter_?" he asked incredulously.

His assumption that one of his Slytherin girls would stoop so low as to give Harry Potter the time of day, and further be upset about wronging him, rankled. Was Snape not listening to a word that Pansy had said? She gave an irritated sigh.

"Professor, I don't even want to know how you came to _that_ conclusion. _Potter!_ Really!"

Pansy paused to give a derisive snort.

"I was talking about Malfoy."

This time she noted a look of concern, and she was certain it wasn't directed at her. It figured that Malfoy would have Snape in his pocket. It was just like a man to take the side of another of his species over that of a resourceful girl who had once helped him out by spreading disinformation about Professor Lupin, Harry Potter, and whoever else. Snape turned a menacing eye on her.

"Just what did you do to Mister Malfoy, Miss Parkinson? You'd better be forthcoming with the details. I know that scathing tongue of yours is quite good at spinning tales, so don't leave anything out. I'll know, I assure you," Snape said nastily.

"Now, Professor, is that any way to treat one of the prefects of this fine institution?" she asked sweetly. "Also, Daddy's been meaning to have a parent/teacher conference with you for ages, did you know?"

_Everyone_ knew that Snape abhorred parent/teacher conferences, especially with parents who could be particularly demanding. Parents like Pansy's, for instance. Usually, Pansy wasn't nearly so reckless with resorting to threatening authority figures, but today she was apparently getting in touch with her inner Gryffindor. Snape had officially brassed her off. She was willing to use every weapon in her arsenal.

Snape didn't appear phased. Instead he gave her an evil smirk.

"Don't play with me, little girl. It will only end in misery, regret, and endless detention. Do you honestly think I really care about your petty schoolgirl squabbles?"

It was being said quietly that made it all the more menacing in Pansy's expert opinion. She much preferred the concerned Professor persona, and dearly wished he'd come back from where he'd scampered away to.

Pansy huffed and crossed her arms. If she was playing at being a Gryffindor today, then why not go all out? She dared to do what adults everywhere loathed- she rolled her eyes at him. Pansy. Rolled. Her. Eyes. At. Professor. Snape. She did. With yet more clinical detachment than was surely healthy in a young lady her age, she noticed that this produced a tic in Snape's left eye and he looked barely able to conceal his rage.

"Did you just do what I thought you did?" he seethed.

Then, Pansy did the second thing that never failed to irk all adults the world over. She smirked. However, it was the third offense that sealed her fate. She denied everything.

"What?"

She'd make _him_ say it. Pansy wasn't about to admit to anything. She'd deny everything with Draco too. Even though there were witnesses and she had been on the verge of spilling everything only moments before.

"You just rolled your eyes at me!"

"No, I didn't."

"So, it's going to be like that, is it?"

"Like what?"

"Detention, Miss Parkinson! For a week!"

Pansy stood hastily, which knocked her chair over.

"_What?_ But I didn't _do_ anything!"

"So, you're going for two weeks now. You'd better watch your tone with me, girl!"

"And you'd better watch _your _tone with _me_!"

Pansy was quite glad that there was a desk between her and Snape. She wished that she could say the same thing about his wand not being conveniently at his disposal. Furthermore, why did Snape even have an office in the dungeons, considering that he now taught DADA and should have had an office next to his new classroom? Just because he was the Head of Slytherin didn't mean he should have an office conveniently near them.

That Snape was able to moderately compose himself before speaking to her alarmed Pansy even more than his apparent rage. Snape looked entirely too happy when he spoke again.

"But why wait for detention to start tomorrow? After all, idle hands are the Devil's playground."

Pansy defiantly held her ground and lifted her chin at a haughty angle so she was looking down her nose at everything. She knew it was this particular look of disaffected superiority that caused her to be labeled with the Pug-face Parkinson moniker. However, she had a modicum of dignity to maintain. How bad could this detention be? Snape didn't even teach Potions anymore, so nasty ingredients were right out.

"I'll have to check my schedule," she said calmly.

Pansy then pulled out her own day planner from her robes. Unlike Draco Malfoy, Pansy had two day planners. One was in the traditional leather, and she kept it up for appearances sake. Really, it would be no great loss if it were stolen. It was her decoy planner. The one she pulled out of her robes though, it was her _real_ planner, and it looked hideous. It was pink and purple and had a unicorn _and_ a rainbow on the front.

Snape had the look of a man who wanted to throttle her, and yet his face held a look of disgusted interest when her hideous day planner emerged. It was this look of affronted disgust Pansy had gone for when she purchased this particular day planner. Who would even want to steal it and be seen with it? Honestly, had Umbridge taught the man nothing? It was the only worthwhile lesson Umbridge had taught Pansy anyway, even if it was an unintended lesson. It never hurt to hide your ambitions behind a veneer of disgustingly kitsch girlishness.

If anything, Snape's look of disgust became more pronounced when she actually opened the planner. His lip curled. Pansy had to hide a smirk. It was the little hearts and doodles she had drawn in the margins that had caught Snape's attention. That all the little hearts had plans for revenge and spells for enemies and rivals was yet another one of Pansy's brilliant innovations.

"Oh, you're in luck, Professor. It appears as if I have a free block of time tonight."

"Put that _thing_ away, Miss Parkinson," Snape growled.

Snape thundered over to the door in a swirl of his teaching robes and slammed it open. If one of his hands lingered in a white knuckled grip on the edge of the door for a moment longer than it should have, Pansy wasn't going to be the one to point it out. She did have some tact. Snape turned and motioned her through first.

"We're going to the Potions lab."

"But —"

"Not. One. Word."

"Right."

Pansy wasn't looking at Snape, but she could imagine that he was gritting his teeth. The thought made her somewhat happy. She sort of thrived on getting reactions out of people.

It was a half-hour into her detention, when Pansy was elbow deep in some nasty rat spleens, that Snape decided the time was right to finally grace her with the sound of his melodious voice.

"I've decided to make a deal with you, Miss Parkinson."

Pansy was immediately wary. A Slytherin did not propose a deal unless they were certain that the other party would not only agree, but that they were getting the better end of the deal. So really, this wasn't going to be a deal at all, but blackmail. It would be exactly what she would do anyway.

She started to feel an itch on her nose, and was that a strand of hair in her eye that had become separated from the rest of her immaculately bobbed black coif? She could do nothing about either with rat spleen all over her hands. She kept cutting rat spleens and glanced up with an affected look of nonchalance.

"Professor?"

Snape didn't appear fooled in the least. In fact, he gave her a knowing smirk.

"You may pretend otherwise, but you're certainly not hopeless at Potions. In fact, you made an O on your Potions O.W.L.."

Pansy narrowed her eyes. What was Snape playing at? He didn't teach the subject anymore, but yet he was supervising her detention in the lab, and talking about her in association with the subject. She didn't like where this was going.

Snape didn't wait for her to respond.

"And seeing as you've landed yourself into many detentions for your antics today- what would you say if I could make all of it _officially_ go away?"

"Officially?"

"Yes, no marks on your permanent record. No records of detention whatsoever. No mention of your little incident with Mister Malfoy- we'd ignore it altogether. Why, as far as I'd be concerned, there _was_ no incident with Malfoy. Plus, you'd get to keep your prefect badge- and I would personally recommend you for Head Girl over Granger, and I could definitely win over some of the other Professors in your favor. Provided —"

His voice really was quite tantalizing with the tale he was spinning. Good thing she was prepared to resist with her faculties intact. He'd threatened to take away her prefect badge, while encouraging her by dangling the carrot of Head Girl in front of her eyes. Oh, he was good.

"Provided?"

"Provided you do a few things in exchange. Mere trifles in comparison to what I'd be doing for you."

Pansy was intrigued and annoyed at the same time. He was obviously getting something out of all of this, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out what.

"What sort of mere trifles are we talking about, Professor?"

"You'd come to this lab every single Monday evening from seven to nine and brew the various potions on the list I'll give to you. Also, you'll fill out this form right here."

Snape took a folded parchment from his frock coat and held it in front of her nose so she could read it. She did have rat spleen on her hands, after all.

"This is an application for a junior membership in _The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers_."

Hadn't her great-grandfather been in that? Wasn't it like some kind of old wizards' auxiliary club? It sounded dreadfully dull.

"So, it is."

"Why?"

"This is a need to know basis only, Miss Parkinson."

"What if I say no?"

She wanted to know what further consequences the man had in store for her if she refused. There was always a Plan B with Slytherins who wanted things to go their way.

"Then kiss that ridiculous day planner with unicorns and rainbows of yours goodbye. I know evil when I see it. The world would be better off without that thing lurking about."

To Pansy's astonishment, Snape pulled her day planner, which she distinctly remembered putting back in her robe pocket, out of _his_ robe. She panicked.

"You didn't read it did you?"

"I read enough."

"You drive a hard bargain, Professor."

"I've got a quill right here for you to fill out the application."

Damn it! She could have lived through losing her prefect status, but she couldn't live through losing her _own_ day planner!

"I'll just go wash my hands then, shall I?"

"I knew you'd make the right decision. You're cleverer than most."

High praise indeed, but she still hadn't signed the application yet. Pansy knew he'd keep up the solicitous talking until the deed was done.

He handed the quill to her and it was dripping with the red ink he used to grade papers. Pansy always knew that Professor Snape was the devil.

After she finally signed her name, she saw the look of triumph in Snape's eyes.

"Welcome to the Society, Miss Parkinson! And remember, you tell no one about any of this. Not one word."

Pansy immediately nodded in agreement, and held out her hand.

"My day planner?"

"Ah, I'm afraid I'll be holding onto it for a little while longer. Insurance. I'm sure you understand. If it's any consolation, I gave you the choice I never had."

With that, Snape was out the door and Pansy was left alone. It was no consolation. She was bereft. He'd taken her day planner! There was no way she'd be able to sleep until it was back in her grasp. Oh, Snape was good, she'd give him that!


	3. Student Victim  Junior Potioneer 2

**Chapter Three: Student Victim/Junior Potioneer Number 2 (Ravenclaw)**

"Um, Terry, mate?"

Terry Boot had been sitting innocently in the Ravenclaw Common Room, minding his own business, and once again reading _Quidditch Through the Ages_. He'd been the first to check it out for the year for three years running. It had almost been a near miss this year, and he'd barely managed to get it out from under Bulstrode's hefty fist without detection. He had, however, successfully distracted her with a well-placed Chocolate Frog strategically positioned right at the end of the aisle, and she was none the wiser. Well, maybe she had been on to him because he might have heard her dulcet tones cursing his very existence. It was admittedly hard to miss, 'Damn you, Boot, you'll rue the day your Muggle arse was ever born!' and the ensuing kerfluffle with Madam Pince kicking them both out of the library- but whatever, right?

Terry looked up to see his best friend Michael Corner distractedly run a hand through his dark hair.

"Yeah?"

"Ah, um, nice weather we're having, eh? I mean, good for Quidditch and all, right?"

"Did Cho dump you or something, mate?"

"No! Nothing like that! We're good. You've not heard anything have you?"

Michael's awkward behavior suddenly turned serious as he contemplated the idea that Cho might have dumped him via strategically placed rumors with his friends.

"No. Marrietta definitely would've mentioned something when she came through, if that was the case."

Michael betrayed his relief and let out a sigh.

"Well, that's alright then. Had me worried there, Terry."

"So –"

Terry was giving Michael the opportunity to say what he needed to say, and he was beginning to get one of those weird feelings that he wouldn't like whatever it was he was about to hear.

"So, you know our study group?"

Terry paused to ponder Michael's query. Did he, Terry Boot, know of their study group? The study group they had been in together, along with Mandy Brocklehurst, Anthony Goldstein, Su Li, and Morag McDougal, which had got them all successfully through their O.W.L.s? The study group that consisted of approximately half of their year group in Ravenclaw? There were only two study groups in Ravenclaw that Terry could opt to be part of- the only other one consisting of the other half of the sixth year Ravenclaws. As there were no mixed year study-groups, it was either study with the two established groups or study alone. And as it was a cardinal sin of Ravenclaw House to study alone, one studied in the established groups- and one didn't switch groups once the commitment was made. _That_ study group?

"I might have heard tell of such an organization."

"Right. Well, the girls, well, mostly Morag, but Su too- they _sort-of-blame-you-for-their-E-in-Potions_."

The hell they did! Terry wasn't daft, he'd heard Michael right the first time. However, he had a terrible feeling he knew what was coming next.

"Sorry, Michael, I missed that last part."

"They blame you for getting an E on their Potions O.W.L.s. Morag is convinced that you slacked off on helping them out, because it was your job to share your revisions with the rest of us."

"But I got an O on _my_ Potions O.W.L.! They had the same information I did."

"Well, _I_ know that, Terry. However, you know how girls can get. They think it looks fishy. They had a whole litany of complaints about your study habits actually. Said you just wanted them to look bad."

"And you defended me to them, right?"

Michael looked a bit awkward and ashamed.

"Right, Michael?"

"Er, well, their itemized list of complaints might have had a few valid points. I mean- not that I think you purposefully tried anything- that's just not you."

_Quidditch Through the Ages_ was definitely the worse for wear, as Terry gripped the revered tome roughly enough to crease the spine.

"You're not serious."

Michael looked even more awkward.

"Look, Terry. The girls are just a bit miffed at you, but even you have to admit that you insist we take too many study breaks."

Michael handed Terry a bit of parchment, which he hesitantly took.

"This is a pie chart showing how many times I allegedly made us take breaks last term as compared to the other study groups," Terry said in a monotone voice.

Michael's face had turned a shade of very embarrassed red, and Terry only thought that Michael's humiliation wasn't nearly enough to compensate for the inanity he was being put through at the moment. His embarrassment didn't stop Michael from silently handing Terry another piece of parchment.

"These are informal poll results in bar graph form showing how all of the fifth year Ravenclaws performed on their Potions O.W.L.s," Terry said emotionlessly.

Michael pointed at the last.

"And as you can see, Terry, the others consistently scored higher than those of us in our study group. In fact, you're the only one who achieved an O in Potions from our group. The rest of us got E's. There is definitely enough evidence to assume a correlation."

"Michael, I'm disappointed, and I'm not simply talking about your egregious usage of a logical fallacy in your argument. You, of all people, should know that correlation does not imply causation."

"Well, we're not convinced that all is merely coincidence, Terry," Michael said sadly.

"Well, _we_ can go fuck ourselves!" Terry yelled loudly as he spied Su and Morag, attempting to hide back toward the staircase.

He felt eyes on the other side of him, and turned to see Anthony and Mandy looking nervous but determined.

Whatever Michael had to say in response was drowned out by Su Li's righteous indignation.

"My graphs and charts do not lie, Terry Boot!"

"They're rubbish pseudoscience! You misuse statistics for your own twisted ends! For shame!"

"And you continually hide behind your Muggle doublespeak to absolve yourself of any guilt! 'Look at me, I'm Terry Boot, Mr. I don't know a thing about Wizardry- but I'm all about logic and science' himself! All the while, playing us for fools. A clever ruse, Boot! I should have known it was all a front for you to attain a higher grade point average than the rest of us, whilst hiding your true intentions behind a façade of ignorance!" Morag passionately opined.

Terry rounded on Anthony and Mandy and looked at them speculatively.

"I suppose you agree with these outrageous accusations?"

Anthony nervously took off his spectacles and pretended to clean them on the hem of his robes.

"Was really needing an O for my career aspirations," Anthony mumbled.

Mandy started biting her cuticles.

"My academic self-esteem has taken a nosedive," Mandy added quietly.

Neither could look him the eye. He turned back to Michael in betrayal.

"Terry, obviously we all need a little break. _Temporary_ mind!" Michael hastily added, at seeing Terry's incredulous expression. "Study groups only thrive on trust, peacefulness, and a complete lack of anxiety pervading the energy we create together."

"You can't even use your own words to kick me out of the study group, Michael! That sounds suspiciously like some rubbish Su would write down and have you memorize!" Terry yelled at his now former best friend.

"It's not rubbish!" Su yelled. "My parents told me that I brought shame to the family! They said that no daughter of theirs was an academic slacker. They even- once again- compared me to my perfect brother, the St. Mungo's Healer!"

The entire population of the Ravenclaw Common Room, who hadn't made any secret of the fact that they were all shamelessly eavesdropping, gasped in sympathy with Su Li. Morag even patted her consolingly on the arm.

"There, there, Su. We've all suffered because of Terry's thoughtlessness."

Michael apparently steeled his resolve as he handed Terry yet another piece of parchment.

"This is a note from Flitwick saying that I'm officially out of the study group for this term, but according to Ravenclaw Rules, I have the opportunity for rebuttal- at which point my admittance back into the group will be reviewed," Terry stated dryly.

"See? It's not permanent. We'll see you next term, yeah?" Michael said with false cheerfulness.

Terry immediately decided that ignoring the lot of them would serve him well until he could get his rebuttal together. Perhaps he could even join the other group? Exceptions had been made before. Terry looked over near the fireplace, where Padma Patil's group usually studied, only to find that every single last one of them was refusing to make eye contact with him. Well, that was telling. So, it was the Lovegood treatment for him now, was it?

Speaking of, ah, yes, _there_ she was. Luna smiled beatifically and waved at him, her blonde hair making her look like a dotty angel.

"The Rotfang Conspiracy has finally come to Hogwarts. So far, you and I are the only ones not affected here in Ravenclaw Tower," Luna said calmly.

Well a good rebuttal was apparently his only hope then. Unfortunately, this meant only one thing. Terry Boot had to go see Professor Snape.

He had the three damning pieces of parchment in his hand, and he'd definitely need them, as well as whatever charm he possessed to get Snape to agree to an impromptu meeting.

Professor Snape didn't enjoy surprises, Terry knew. Many a Ravenclaw had been soundly thrown out of his office for daring to show up without an appointment. It also usually involved a loss of house points and a detention. However, Terry was desperate. There was no way he was going to spend the rest of his time at Hogwarts with Luna Lovegood as his only study companion, fellow DA member or not.

As Terry descended down into the dungeons, he felt the cold chill his bones. It was an ominous feeling of doom that he felt foolish for not heeding. He stopped in front of Snape's office door and continued to stand there. He would not be daunted though- Terry would have a decent rebuttal even if it killed him- which was very likely if Snape was involved. So, why was he hesitating? Because he wasn't a bloody Gryffindor, that was why.

Terry began mumbling to himself.

"See, Professor, it's like this. I've always admired your teaching techniques. I find them very straightforward. No. No, that's laying it on a bit thick. He won't buy it. Hmm. Perhaps –"

"Perhaps you should just knock on the door and quit stalling," a passing Slytherin said and then snickered. "Here, I'll help you out."

The seventh year boy loudly pounded on Snape's office door before taking off running down the hall, leaving Terry to deal with the consequences. If Snape hated Ravenclaws who showed up sans appointments, he definitely couldn't stand Ravenclaws who tried to pound his door down.

Snape's door flew open and the very next moment, Terry had a very irate looking DADA professor staring him down.

"Well, if it isn't Mister Boot come to call," Snape said silkily.

This was certainly not the start to a decent conversation, in Terry's estimation.

"Not only do you not have an appointment, you've disturbed an important religious ritual."

This was even worse. While not being particularly religious himself, Terry was always cognizant of the religious practices of those among his friends and acquaintances. He rather prided himself on his tolerance, and if he had inadvertently offended Snape, then the man would never agree to help him out.

Terry stopped to ponder what the religious ritual could possibly be. He didn't recall any Christian holidays today, it wasn't Ramadan or Eid, Anthony would have mentioned any Jewish holidays of significance, no Hindu festivals were occurring, and Snape didn't have any Zen vibes about him. Perhaps Snape was some sort of Orthodox observer of the Sabbath? Perhaps he was Jewish, after all?

"Shabbat Shalom, Professor," Terry said with false enthusiasm.

Snape snorted.

"Wrong religion, Mister Boot. I'm afraid that you've interrupted a perfectly good summoning of Angra Mainyu."

Snape had said this as if Terry should have known who or what Angra Mainyu was.

"Er –"

Snape tutted disapprovingly at Terry's ignorance.

"Ahura Mazda's nemesis in the Zoroastrian religion," Snape informed him.

"You're Zoroastrian, Professor?" Terry asked disbelievingly.

"Hardly. I'm more like an anti-Zoroastrian, if anything. However, I'm sure Angra Mainyu wouldn't mind a human sacrifice. You'll do."

With that, Snape opened the door and motioned Terry inside. It figured that Snape would be the Zoroastrian equivalent of a Satanist. He followed Snape inside anyway.

Terry's first thought was that Snape was simply being sarcastic and that he was being gullible, however, everyone knew that Snape didn't joke. It was always best just to stick with the horrible possibility that the man was always being literal.

Snape motioned Terry to the empty chair on the other side of his desk that he reserved for students. Terry warily looked at the chair before gingerly perching on the edge. Being ready to make his escape if need be was paramount in situations such as this.

Snape didn't round the desk to go sit in his own chair. No. The man insolently leaned back on the corner of the desk and crossed his arms as he stared Terry down. Overall, Terry assessed the situation as being _not good_ and _disconcerting in the extreme_.

"Well?"

The question was posed with much disdain and impatience, and was immediately followed by the famous Snape Eyebrow Lift™. Terry blanched. Then he remembered that this one uncomfortable meeting with Snape was the price he had to pay in order to avoid social death in Ravenclaw Tower- forever in the company of Luna Lovegood. As much as it pained Terry, he would have to find his inner Gryffindor quickly. He could do the Granger thing- but that was as far as he was willing to go. Blunt truthfulness would have to do.

"I need your help, Professor."

"I gathered that much, Mister Boot. Need I remind you that you're wasting my valuable time? This had better be good or you'll regret it, I assure you."

Of that, Terry had absolutely no doubt.

"I was kicked out of my study group."

"Pity."

Snape definitely sounded as if he couldn't care less. The indifference the man displayed to Terry's plight was staggering, really. Other Professors would at least pretend to care.

"I was hoping you could help me with my rebuttal so that I can be allowed back into the group, sir."

"It may have escaped your notice, Mister Boot, but my name is not Filius Flitwick, nor am I the Head of Ravenclaw House."

Being pleasant to Snape was proving to be more difficult than Terry had ever imagined. He could finally see where Potter was coming from. He had to plough on though.

"Professor Flitwick won't help me in this, seeing as he was the one who made my break from the group official, sir."

Snape actually sported an incredulous look on his face before responding.

"If you think I'll gainsay your own Head of House, Mister Boot, then you're obviously Confunded."

"It's because I made an O on my Potions O.W.L.. They think I held back on them and caused them all to get Es."

"Once again, Mister Boot, you've obviously come to the wrong person. Not only do I not care, I no longer teach Potions. How these facts eluded your detection is beyond me, but Professor Slughorn now teaches the subject. It would be advantageous to speak with him."

Terry was very frustrated and it showed.

"I need a rebuttal with substance, sir! Professor Slughorn doesn't know all of us yet. You know exactly how we all were in Potions. I could really use your help, sir! _Please_."

"Enough!"

Snape had the look he usually sported when he was ready to dish out detention and Terry steeled himself accordingly. Nobody could say that he didn't give it an effort. He sighed in defeat.

By this point, Snape had uncrossed his arms and had brought one hand down on the desk to drum his fingers in annoyance. However, the motion disturbed a very girly and very hideous looking diary that was sitting on the edge. Terry saw Snape glance down at the diary. It was not his imagination that Snape's expression abruptly changed from vexed to blank, and then to an oily and frankly evil smile in less than two seconds.

"Hmm. Yes- you _did_ make an O on your Potions O.W.L., didn't you?"

This was beyond frightening. Terry didn't think there was a good answer to Snape's rhetorical question.

"Professor?" Terry warily asked.

"Would you care for tea, Mister Boot?"

Snape was suddenly all smiles and the very model of a Professor who loved chatting with diligent students. Snape didn't wait for Terry to answer.

"Winky! Bring tea for Mister Boot and myself."

By the time the house-elf had appeared with a hiccup and the tea and placed it on the table and promptly vanished, Snape had rounded his desk to sit demurely in his chair on the other side. Terry made a split second decision. If Snape politely asked him how he took his tea, then he was out of there.

Snape poured himself a cup of tea and began drinking it. He looked at Terry.

"If you think I'm going to pour your tea for you, Mister Boot, think again."

This Snape, Terry could deal with. They were firmly back in familiar territory, thank Merlin. Terry hesitantly poured himself a cup of tea and it was only when he took a sip that Snape spoke to him again.

"Terry. May I call you Terry?" Snape asked politely.

Terry was sure he had just scalded his throat. It had been either that or spit tea everywhere.

"Er –"

"Excellent. Perhaps I was slightly hasty before. What I meant to say earlier was that I, of course, am willing to help out my students. Especially students who have the predisposition for the fine art that is Potion making. That's really the trouble isn't it? A young man of your caliber, Terry, can hardly lower his standards when studying with those who- Just. Don't. Understand."

"Um –"

"Tsk! I _know_. I'd say they're railroading you considering with Professor Slughorn around they all get to take N.E.W.T. level Potions anyway. I'll be more than happy to help you. I'll even do you one better. I'll send a letter to Professor Flitwick and clear this whole misunderstanding up for you straight away."

That sounded distinctly like decency to Terry, and everyone knew Snape didn't do decent, which meant the man couldn't possibly be sincere. But who really understood the mind of Snape? He had no choice but to go with it.

"Thank you, sir! That'd be fantastic. That, plus my rebuttal should do the trick. You won't regret doing this."

Snape still had a very pleasant smile plastered to his face that he quickly dropped in place of a sneer.

"I know I won't. However, if you think I'm doing this out of the kindness of my heart, Mister Boot, then you really are a dunderhead."

"Professor?"

"I'll do this for you, if you do something for me in exchange."

At Terry's horrified expression, Snape snorted disdainfully.

"I find myself in need of a marginally competent student assistant to help grade essays for the younger years every Tuesday evening from six to nine here in my office."

Terry immediately sighed in relief.

"I think I can do that, sir."

Immediately Snape pushed a piece of parchment across the table to Terry.

"Also, I'll need you to sign this piece of parchment here, if you don't mind."

"_The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers_? But why?"

This was extremely confusing. What was Snape playing at? Terry didn't really care for Potions. He just excelled at it.

"Just sign the parchment, Mister Boot. Think of it as something that will look good on a resume."

Snape thrust a quill into his hand, which Terry contemplated. Now that Snape was giving him what he wanted he was stalling. There was something strange going on here, but Terry was at a loss to explain it.

"This is a quality quill you've got here, Professor. One hardly encounters such quality writing implements in this day and age. Few would spend the galleons –"

"How is Miss Lovegood these days?" Snape queried in a perfectly polite tone of voice, accompanied by what Terry would have said was a sincere smile on anyone else.

"Quite well, sir. For Lovegood, I mean."

"Indeed? Do send her my regards when you return to Ravenclaw Tower, would you?"

"Of course, Professor."

Message received. Terry immediately signed the parchment without further ado. Snape didn't miss a beat and immediately sported a shark-like smirk on his face.

"And yes, the quill is rather impressive, isn't it? If nothing else, Professor Umbridge certainly knew all about quality writing supplies."

"Oh. That's, er, fantastic, Professor. Ah, well, the time. It's ah- moving forward- and I really must be going. Thanks for the tea, sir!"

Terry anxiously glanced at his hand just to be sure. He didn't feel any pain, but you never knew with Snape. He played it off by quickly running his hand through his short brown hair. He couldn't afford to show weaknesses here- he was going to be the man's student assistant, after all. As Terry was hastily fleeing Snape's office, he could have sworn he heard a bark of laughter.


	4. Student Victim Junior Potioneer 3

**Chapter Four:** **Student Victim/Junior Potioneer Number 3 (Gryffindor)**

Hermione was pretending to revise her homework essay that was due in Transfiguration the next week while sitting in Transfiguration. Having already successfully demonstrated that she was sufficiently competent with the practical component of the day, she was content with letting Ron and Harry flounder on their own, under the pretext that she had a lot to do. In reality, Hermione was covertly watching what was going on around her.

She loved to people watch. It was amazing what she discovered about people when they were under the impression that those around them were wholly concentrated upon their work. Hermione, despite popular belief, didn't merely rely on books for her wealth of information. For instance, Hermione already knew that she'd have to keep an eye out for Lavender Brown this year due to the girl's recent penchant for making goo-goo eyes at Ron. At this thought, Hermione's quill broke under the sudden increased pressure and ink began leaking all over her parchment. Oh, yes, Lavender Brown would pay if she kept it up, Hermione thought darkly as she set to cleaning up her mess.

"All right there, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking up from his own assignment.

Hermione pasted a quick grin on her face.

"Fine, Harry. Just fine. Though I'm thinking I paid a bit much for this particular quill. Poor quality, really."

Ron still hadn't a clue that anything had happened at all, as she saw him sneaking a peek in Lavender's direction. Ron was going to wind up paying the piper too, if things continued this way.

"Ron," she whispered frantically, only to have him ignore her. "May I borrow a quill?"

There was still no reaction from the clueless redheaded wizard, as he was completely distracted by Lavender's annoying giggly voice.

"Here, Hermione, you can borrow one of mine," Harry supplied.

Hermione waved Harry away.

"Thank you for the offer, but you chew on your quills, Harry. It's unsanitary."

"I've not done that since second year, you know."

However, Hermione's attention was already back on Ron Weasley. It'd be a shame for the Weasley family to lose their youngest son during the bloom of his youth, but tragic accidents were just something Gryffindor families had to become accustomed to. The Weasley family was overdue.

"Ron!"

There was still no reaction.

"Ronald Weasley!"

He finally turned around to look at her and Hermione gave him a smile, but he looked slightly irritated.

"Oi! Do you have to be so loud, Hermione? I'm practically sitting right next to you."

The things Hermione did for love.

"May I borrow a quill? Mine broke."

"Sorry. I lent my extra quill to Lavender. Have you asked Harry if he's got one you could use?"

Hermione's stomach turned to ice. So this is what rejection felt like, eh? Well then.

"You lent your quill to _her_?" Hermione asked shrilly.

"Here, Hermione. Really. I haven't chewed on my quills in ages, take this one," Harry offered.

Harry and his attempts to diffuse potentially lethal situations among his friends! This saving people thing really needed to be stomped out brutally. If it weren't so annoying, it might actually be endearing, Hermione thought.

"Thank you, Harry. Well, at least chivalry isn't dead with _some_ these days. Others- those with the emotional ranges of teaspoons, for example- apparently can't be bothered."

It wasn't Hermione's imagination that Ron muttered the word 'nutter' under his breath. This was a tried and true method to incite Hermione J. Granger to murderous intent, as Ronald Weasley well knew. As Hermione was raising her wand to hex him- in class with no thought of the consequences, no less- McGonagall called her out.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione froze and her heart was beating too fast. Detention was in the cards, at the very least. It was also likely that she could kiss Head Girl goodbye, if Professor McGonagall was in an extra foul mood. Damn her Gryffindor tendencies!

"Professor?"

Professor McGonagall looked especially peeved, and Hermione took it as a bad sign. She watched her Head of House peer down at a parchment in her hand that had just been handed to her by a tiny first year Hufflepuff who promptly disappeared out the door. At that, Hermione let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"I find myself in need of a dependable student for this task."

Hermione's slight spine straightening at the praise was definitely not preening. Hermione Granger didn't preen. She also didn't gloat. Her smug smile of superiority in Lavender Brown's direction was definitely not gloating. It was a smile of modest embarrassment.

McGonagall took up her quill and scratched something harshly onto the parchment before folding it and handing it to Hermione.

"I need you to take this to the Potions Lab, immediately. "

"Of course, Professor."

And Hermione's response wasn't in the obsequious tone of a sycophant. Hermione Granger was neither obsequious nor sycophantic- and her tone never emulated such a thing- even to her favorite Professor in the midst of being on the receiving end of abject favoritism, which would never happen because Professor McGonagall was fair and even-handed to all of her students and didn't play favorites.

"Take your things with you. You're needed to help supervise first year students and won't be back before the end of class."

"Yes, ma'am."

Hermione absently noted that her departure didn't give the satisfaction she craved, because her sashaying exit was entirely ignored by all pertinent parties she meant to incite to jealousy. Ron and Lavender were back to sneaking glances at each other, Harry was pretending not to notice anything was amiss, and everyone else was so used to Hermione being the teacher's pet that it hardly warranted raised brows, let alone commentary these days. It only put her in a sullen mood as she headed down to the dungeons.

If not for the slight flicker of light coming from the cracked door of the dark room, Hermione would have thought the classroom was empty. She tentatively drew her wand and pushed the door open slightly. Once her eyes adjusted she noticed that the students were watching the beginning credits of a black and white film, and Professor Snape was sitting in the front of the room, leaning back in his chair, watching the film with them. It was only when he turned around and saw her that she remembered herself and walked over to hand him the parchment.

Professor Snape snorted in apparent amusement at what was on the parchment.

"I knew she'd send you. Take a seat, Miss Granger."

Hermione was hesitant as Professor Snape pointed to a chair right next to his at the front. Apparently, he wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon. Why Professor Slughorn was nowhere to be found and Professor Snape was there in his place, Hermione wanted to know very badly, however, Professor Snape obviously thought she hesitated too long.

"I don't believe I stuttered, girl. Take. A. Seat."

She did straight away, and immediately became engrossed in the film, despite herself. It was like watching a train wreck. It had the look of one of those Muggle mental hygiene films from the 1950s- an _American_ mental hygiene film. The words on the screen proclaimed it to be from the American Ministry of Magic- Educational Division, and it was aptly titled, "Potions Laboratory Safety and You."

Hermione chanced a glance at Professor Snape, only to see the man sporting a look of disturbingly malicious glee on his face, while avidly watching the screen, which showed two little kids at a lab station. It was narrated by a very precise male voice that sounded like an old-time American newsreader.

"Potions. A subject that gives back to the world. Young potioneers are often excited to begin the brewing process. And who can blame them? It is magical science in motion. Let's see what these two young potioneers- Johnny and Sue- are up to in the lab."

"Oh, Johnny! This is so exciting! Mr. Green said we'd make our first real potion today. I can't wait," a little girl with two braided pigtails, gushed excitedly to a little boy with a buzz cut.

"It's not _my_ first potion, Sue. I've brewed loads of potions before. I bet mine will be the best in the class."

Sue looked skeptical, but smiled at the arrogant boy anyway.

"Well, we'd better put on our safety goggles and lab aprons before we set up our cauldrons."

"Aw! Safety goggles and lab aprons are for sissies!"

"But Mr. Green said –"

"Mr. Green's a square, Sue."

The little girl began wringing her hands.

"But Johnny! What if –"

"Relax! Don't be such a worry wart."

"Uh- Oh! This is a bad sign. See, children, little Johnny has decided that he isn't going to listen to Mr. Green's instructions."

Immediately, Johnny lit the fire under the cauldron.

"Johnny! Mr. Green said to wait to light our cauldrons!"

"Pshaw! Mr. Green just said that for the kids who haven't ever brewed before, Sue!"

Hermione watched as little Johnny continued to ignore Sue's concerns at every turn and disregarded every single lab safety rule in existence, and then came the climax, complete with ominous music, of little Johnny randomly throwing ingredients into the cauldron.

"Johnny, no! Not the Ashwinder Eggs!"

The scene ended with Sue unconscious on the floor, and Johnny leaning over her prone form, attempting to wake her up, with Mr. Green and the entire class surrounding them.

"Sue? Sue! Oh, Sue! Wake up! Oh, Mr. Green! Is Sue going to be alright?"

Mr. Green, looking very official and serious, bent down and waved his wand over Sue and then looked back up to Johnny.

"I'm afraid not, Johnny."

The scene ended with Johnny dissolving into tears.

"Oh, Sue! Please wake up! I didn't mean it. I was just horsing around. I didn't mean it, honest! Wake up!"

"It's too late for tears now, Johnny. You should have listened and followed the lab safety rules when you had the chance. Now you'll be expelled from school and lead a life of delinquency," the narrator's voice opined smugly.

It was at this moment that Hermione began hearing a sniffling noise from the first row. She looked over, only to see a tiny little Hufflepuff girl frantically attempting to wipe away her tears. The little girl looked up at Hermione and took it as a sign to get out of her seat and approach her and Professor Snape. The little girl had obviously not known Professor Snape long enough to know that what she was doing was suicidal. Hermione attempted to frantically wave the little girl back to her seat, to no avail. Unfortunately, Professor Snape noticed. The tiny little girl stopped directly in front of them.

"Professor. I w-want my mum!"

Hermione watched in fascination as Professor Snape pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to hand to the girl, who quickly took it.

"You do?"

The little girl nodded earnestly.

"Well, that's a shame considering she is very, _very_ far away from here right now, isn't it?"

This only caused the girl to start bawling uncontrollably. Hermione was appalled and glared at Professor Snape for making the adorable little Hufflepuff girl cry. She wanted to give the little girl a hug.

"I suggest you go back to your seat immediately, Miss Roberts, or you'll really have something to cry about when I give you a detention."

The little girl scampered back to her seat and buried her head in her arms. Hermione turned back to Professor Snape and he looked at her with a smirk.

"Professor!"

He merely raised an eyebrow at her, and Hermione immediately knew it was fruitless to pursue that topic, so she decided to give voice to her earlier curiosity.

"Where's Professor Slughorn?"

"Ah- he spent a late night listening to Brahms and Liszt. The Headmaster didn't want to cancel his classes, so you'll stay here for the next hour after the bell, when I leave to go teach my own classes."

Was he insinuating what Hermione thought he was?

"Um, does he often find himself listening to those two composers, Professor?"

Snape snorted.

"Not that it's your business, Miss Granger, but he and Trelawney got back late from a concert… at the Hogshead."

Yes, he was. She curled her lip in derision. Two teachers missing classes because they were pissed! Snape seemed to share her sentiments and obviously must have had something against Professor Slughorn to so freely share the information with one of his least favorite students. Hermione didn't dwell on it too long, because she was immediately drawn back into the film, which had moved on to a different lab safety topic.

"Vi! You're terrible!" a girl, who looked like the typical witch next door, said in a scandalized tone to another girl who embodied the concept of 50's Wizarding glamour.

Vi laughed. She was sitting at the lab station and reading _Teen Witch_ magazine and not watching her cauldron. Even though Barbara was talking to her, she was still diligently attending to her own cauldron.

"Barbara! You've never even kissed a boy, have you?"

"I'm not that kind of girl, Vi! We should be concentrating on making good grades and finishing this potion!"

"Oh, pooh! What do we need to know about brewing potions anyway, Barbara?"

"Well, you'll be sorry you didn't learn how to brew potions when you have to keep house some day!"

"I won't! I'll have house-elves. Bill will marry me once he's a famous Quodpot player, and we can spend our time in places like Paris! He said he'd go steady with me if I go riding with him today."

"Oh, don't do it, Vi! It will ruin your reputation. My mother said that only loose witches ride on brooms with wizards."

This time the narrator was a witch who sounded just as smug as the male narrator had.

"Not only is Vi not attending to her cauldron, she's bad news. That's right, Barbara. Only loose witches ride on brooms with wizards. A proper witch, like Barbara, knows she has to make good grades in classes like Potions so she can be a homemaker some day, brewing potions for her family."

"Vi, we're at the stage where we have to be careful with our potions. The fumes can be toxic."

Vi merely laughed again and kept flipping the pages of her magazine.

"Hey, look at this! They have tips on how to make your lipstick last longer! I've got to try it."

"Oh, Vi! You're hopeless."

"And you worry too much!"

Vi immediately pulled out a tube of lipstick to put it on, not noticing as a cloud of steam from her cauldron came into contact with her face, only to gasp in horror when she looked into her compact mirror.

"My face! Oh! My face! Barbara! Help me!"

Barbara looked on in horror as the narrator chimed in.

"Oh, dear! Barbara can't help you now, Vi! She did _try_ to warn you, but you wouldn't listen, would you? Now you'll never get married because of your permanent disfigurement. You'll never know the joys of keeping house for a husband and having children of your own _now_. You'll only live alone with lots of cats."

There was definitely more crying now, Hermione could hear it. This film was ridiculous and misogynistic. She couldn't take it anymore.

"Professor Snape? Don't you think this film is a little- outdated?"

"Miss Granger, are you telling me you think lab safety to be an outdated concept?"

"Of course not, Professor, but—"

"Then I fail to see the problem. Besides, I would have thought you'd find Barbara to be a kindred spirit. She doesn't intend to rely on house-elves and she wants to settle down and be a homemaker."

"I have never intended to be a homemaker, Professor! When have I ever said such a thing?"

"Aren't you and that Weasley boy an item? He will, of course, expect you to follow in Mrs. Weasley's footsteps, I'd imagine."

Hermione was livid and whispered viciously through clenched teeth.

"Now see here, Professor, that isn't any of your business."

"You're right, Miss Granger. I have noticed that he and the Brown girl are a little closer these days. My apologies."

He didn't sound sincere at all.

"When I leave, I expect you to make sure they continue watching the rest of the film. Don't let their tears fool you. A month of school and not one mention of lab safety from Slughorn at all! It would only have been a matter of time before one of these little dunderheads blew up the lab."

"But that's—"

"Unacceptable."

Hermione sighed. She didn't disagree. Slughorn hadn't mentioned lab safety at all. And now that she knew he was a drunkard, it was even worse.

"But they'll be afraid to even _touch_ a cauldron after this, Professor."

"That's not my problem anymore. Nor is it yours, Miss Granger. _Unless_—" Snape trailed off. "But no, it would take up too much of your free period every Wednesday. I know you like your study time," he said quietly to himself.

"What? What is it, Professor?" Hermione asked him eagerly.

"Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking to myself, Miss Granger."

"But you had an idea. What was it, sir?"

"I was thinking that a student who made an O on their Potions O.W.L. could help as a lab assistant. They could help brew potions for the hospital wing, keep students from blowing up the lab, and it would look good on a resume. Especially if they were to also- no- that's asking too much."

Professor Snape sighed. Hermione always knew he wasn't as heartless as he seemed. Harry and Ron would never believe it.

"Maybe I'll ask a Ravenclaw instead."

"What? No! Professor- my Wednesday schedule isn't that bad. I can help out with the first year Potions classes for one day a week. I made an O on my Potions O.W.L.."

"Yes, but you would also have to become a junior member of _The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers_."

Hermione's enthusiasm waned considerably at that news. Joining organizations always put constraints on one's time.

"May I ask why, sir? I mean, I'd love to help out, but that _does_ sound like an extra commitment on my time."

Professor Snape sighed again.

"I thought as much. They are a rather demanding organization. Assuming they'd even let you in. They only take the best."

"Just what are you implying, Professor?"

"I'm implying that you may not have what it takes, anyway, Miss Granger."

"Give me an application form, sir."

"As you wish."

Professor Snape promptly shoved an application that he conveniently had on his person, into Hermione's hands. That was disconcertingly fast. However, Hermione had to prove she could do this. How dare anyone imply she couldn't? She signed it straight away, with a very nice quill Professor Snape also handed her.

Hermione didn't dwell on the evil smirk she saw Professor Snape give her out of the corner of her eye. She also didn't dwell on the distinctly evil way he said the word, "Excellent," as he snatched the signed application and quill out of her hands and swept out the door. She was already drawn back into the film.

Poor Wally was cleaning out the Potions cupboard and was about to make the unwise decision of using older ingredients that no longer had labels on them.

"Oh, this is the worst! Gee whiz! I can't tell if this is the right one or not! Well, it looks all right. I think it will be okay."

Wally took the sealed bottle and slowly pulled out the stopper- only to blow up the entire lab. Survival wasn't an option.

"If only Wally had remembered that one is only to use properly labeled and stored ingredients, he might have survived. The shelf life of potions ingredients is notoriously short, even with Preservation Charms. Always enter the Potions storage area with caution."

Hermione began to panic, as half of the class was now crying. What had she got herself into?


	5. Student Victim Junior Potioneer 4

**Chapter 5: Student Victim/Junior Potioneer Number 4 (Hufflepuff)**

"Tosspot!"

It was grumbled, but Zacharias Smith didn't miss hearing it. He was certain Ron Weasley didn't care if he heard it or not. It was definitely not the first time the Gryffindor had insulted him without cause.

"Oh, it's _you_, Weasley," Zacharias said in a dismissive tone, as he walked down the corridor.

Weasley- well- all of the Weasleys seemed to have something unpleasant to say to him these days; not that he cared. Zacharias couldn't help the fact that he was a skeptic. He _could_ help the fact that he voiced all of his skepticism, but what would be the fun of stifling his myriad annoying questions and comments?

It was only after he passed Weasley by that he noticed that something was amiss. Zacharias turned back around and walked up to the other boy, who was standing right next to the door of the Staff Lounge.

"What are you doing anyway?"

Ron Weasley proceeded to sneer at him. "Unlike everyone else in the DA, I don't feel any particular fondness for you, Smith. Bugger off!"

As Zacharias was used to Weasley being a rude tosser, he chose to ignore that remark.

"You're eavesdropping, aren't you? You've got one of those Extendable Ear things your brothers made, haven't you?"

Weasley glared at him. "Smith? Piss. Off!"

"I don't see why I should. I'm free to roam the corridors just as much as you are. However, since you're here Weasley, perhaps you'd care to explain what your sister _wouldn't_ about what happened at the Ministry at the end of last term?"

Zacharias knew he was goading Ron Weasley, but he couldn't help it. The Weasley family had been allowed too much freedom in this school over the years, in his opinion. Why, Ginny Weasley had even got away with hexing him at the beginning of term with nary a detention in sight! In fact, Slughorn had even rewarded her for it!

As if reading his mind, Weasley smirked at him. "Yeah, I heard what my sister did when you kept at it. No less than you deserved."

"Well, I think the rest of us are owed explanations. Dumbledore has been awfully sparse on the details, hasn't he?"

Zacharias needed answers to everything. It was like a burning curiosity. He felt it was his duty to ask the hard questions others wouldn't.

"Yeah? Well, that's too bad. However, since _you're_ here, perhaps you'd care to explain your biased Quidditch commentary," Weasley responded with the sheer lack of class Zacharias was starting to associate with the Weasley name.

Zacharias stood proudly. "There was nothing wrong with my Quidditch commentary. It was spot on, Weasley, and even your crazed sister knows it."

He wasn't the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain for nothing. He knew his Quidditch. No amount of Weasleys taking dives at him on brooms during Quidditch games would change the facts.

Ron Weasley shook his head as if disgusted. "I don't know why the rest of them even let you in the DA in the first place, but I'm not going to hang around you any more than I have to."

With those words, Weasley thrust the end of the Extendable Ear into Zacharias' hand and stalked off down the corridor.

"Like I care what you think!" Zacharias yelled at his retreating back.

He got a rude gesture in response.

Zacharias sighed. "Typical."

This was a school. Schools owed people answers and explanations. Weren't students supposed to cultivate critical thinking skills? Sometimes he felt as if he was the only one who bothered. It was depressing, really.

Zacharias looked down at the end of the Extendable Ear in his hand. The other end was conveniently under the door of the Staff Lounge. He really shouldn't. He _knew_ that. However, this little invention could mean answers he would ordinarily be without, and that was simply too much of a temptation for him to resist. He brushed Weasley's earwax off, moved a lock of his blond hair out of the way, and put the end of the device in his ear. He immediately heard Professor McGonagall's voice loud and clear.

"…You simply wouldn't believe all of the incidents this term! Edwards' mother sent a Howler to Albus insisting that the Sorting Hat had given him head lice, of all things. Said the school needed to sanitize it between each use!"

"Really," Snape responded, sounding bored.

If that was true, Zacharias thought it constituted a public health risk.

McGonagall continued unabated. "Absolutely ridiculous woman! And then there was a rumor going around that Horace and Sibyl apparently couldn't teach due to having hangovers from a late night trip to the Hogshead! We both know it's too early in the term for Sibyl to be into the sherry, and Horace wouldn't bother with the Hogshead as it isn't posh enough for his tastes. Poor Horace said he was laid up with the flu. You know he's allergic to the usual potions. Had to get by recovering the Muggle way. The thing is, I'm ashamed to say that I think the rumor started in Gryffindor this time. I've never understood where the students get such ridiculous ideas, do you?"

'No idea," Snape said indifferently.

Zacharias knew. The Weasleys were in Gryffindor, so it was likely the Weasleys who had started this bout of salacious rumormongering. And they all wondered why Zacharias questioned their little tales of daring do against You-Know-Who!

"Speaking of Horace, I see he's got his Slug Club up and running again. I had my doubts years ago and always found it a bit silly, but you have to admit it does cultivate inter-house mingling, at the least."

"Hmm," was Snape's only response.

Well, there was no real inter-house mingling going on if said mingling consisted mostly of Gryffindors, now was there? Zacharias was _still_ under the impression that he should have been invited over Ginny Weasley.

"Horace also mentioned something about possibly winning a barrel of whisky. Could you imagine? What I wouldn't do to have a couple of bottles of Old Ogden's small batch!"

"Indeed." Snape definitely sounded irritated to Zacharias' mind.

Well, while the information wasn't important, it was certainly interesting, Zacharias thought. However, before he could ponder anything else the door suddenly opened. He fell right into the Staff Lounge. He looked up only to see Snape glaring down at him.

"Mr. Smith, would you care to explain why you're eavesdropping at the door of the Staff Lounge?" Snape asked menacingly.

"Mr. Smith!" McGonagall said in a scandalized tone. "Well, I never!"

"I'll deal with this, Minerva," Snape said, while giving Zacharias a scary little smirk.

Snape pinched his ear and Zacharias had no recourse but to follow the man, as he was lead by the ear out of the Staff Lounge and down the corridor. It really hurt!

"It was all Weasley's fault, sir," Zacharias tried to reason. "I caught him with this Extendable Ear and demanded explanations."

Snape snorted disdainfully. "I have no doubt Weasley was involved, Mr. Smith. However, _you_ were the one who got caught. That will be fifteen points from Hufflepuff. Let's go on a little walk to the dungeons, shall we?"

Everyone they passed stopped to stare at Zacharias' misfortune. The Gryffindors smirked, the Ravenclaws shook their heads, the Slytherins outright laughed, and his fellow Hufflepuffs had a combination of disapproval and sympathy on their faces. This was not the way he had envisioned his afternoon going.

"Ow! Professor, please!" He yelled loudly at a particularly rough twist.

"What was that, Mr. Smith? I'm a trifle deaf in this ear. Could you speak louder next time?"

Zacharias was pretty sure that had been sarcasm.

"My father will hear about this! You know we're related to one of the school founders, right?"

Snape tugged on his ear harder and mumbled something about dunderheads, just like Malfoy, jumped up little rich boys, lack of filters, Hufflepuffs, and blatant disrespect. In other words, it wasn't anything Zacharias hadn't heard before. He was feeling worse by the minute.

Finally, at his wits end, Zacharias yelled out, "I got an O on my Potions OWL! I've never given you a bit of trouble in your class, Professor! And you know it!"

Snape immediately let go of his ear and Zacharias stumbled. His ear was sore and he could only hear ringing out of that side. All right, maybe he had let his mouth go on running past the point of no return this time, but at least Snape _had _let go of him. Thank Merlin!

Zacharias straightened his school robes as if brushing away this most recent bit of unpleasantness. "I knew you'd see reason, Professor! If Ginny Weasley can get invited to the Slug Club for hexing me, then why should the rest of us be punished for things that weren't our fault?"

Then Zacharias looked into Snape's eyes. He felt like running at what he saw there. It looked like unholy glee. Maybe he _should_ start looking into filtering his mouth a bit more.

"Were you not invited to the Slug Club, Mr. Smith?"

Zacharias sighed in irritation. "No, and I don't see why I wasn't, honestly. You know I'm good in Potions, and my family has a long and prestigious history associated with this school."

Snape's face took on a look of pity.

"I was going to take you to my office to schedule a detention. However, I feel like a change of plans is in order. Let's go on a walk to Ravenclaw Tower."

"Professor?" he asked in confusion.

"Mr. Smith?" Snape responded.

"Yes, sir?" he asked warily.

"Do be quiet."

Soon enough they were at the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower, and Zacharias was simply burning with questions he wanted answers to. However, he knew Snape wouldn't divulge anything unless he was good and ready. Snape was one of the few teachers he didn't generally try to push the envelope with.

A first year Ravenclaw boy was seated pathetically at the entrance to the Common Room. He had tears on his face.

"Just let me in you stupid door knocker!"

Snape glared down at the first year. "Rogers, get Terry Boot."

The little boy looked up to him desperately. "I _can't, _Professor Snape. It won't let me in."

The brass eagle doorknocker snickered at the boy's misfortune. "Looks like you might spend your evening in this fine corridor!"

Snape glared at the brass eagle. "Give us a riddle."

"Not a burden for its weight and daily carried out- he who takes it wishes it had never come about."

Snape smirked nastily. "Punishment."

"Correct. You may enter."

While Snape ushered Zacharias through the door quickly, he couldn't help but notice that the first year didn't make it in before the door shut again. He heard the wail of, 'Nooo!' as the door shut in his face. _There _was a mistaken sorting if Zacharias ever saw one.

While Zacharias was under the impression that he should know everything, especially where Hogwarts was concerned, and didn't mind a bit of positive attention, he certainly didn't like being on display in someone else's common room at Professor Snape's whim. It definitely seemed unusual, and just generated more questions and produced fewer answers.

"Where's Boot?" Snape barked out.

The Ravenclaw Common Room had gone very quiet upon their entrance. There was book reading and studying everywhere. Honestly, Zacharias was glad he was a Hufflepuff, because this was all just a little bit ridiculous and stereotypical.

Finally, Terry Boot emerged from the masses of swots. He had been sitting at the edge of a group of their year mates, and Zacharias was glad _he_ wasn't part of that crowd, because he saw Boot exchange glares with the lot of them before getting up. Zacharias knew resentment when he saw it. Better Boot than him though.

Snape spoke to Boot as if they didn't have an audience. "Smith here rightly saw an injustice at this school, and I'm rectifying it on his behalf. He now has the privilege of helping you at your weekly task."

Despite himself, Zacharias felt proud, even though he had no idea what Snape was on about. Yes, why _shouldn't_ he be rewarded instead of punished? He had done nothing wrong. Boot, the wanker, gave him a dubious look, however, Zacharias didn't expect a Muggleborn to understand the importance of the Smith family legacy. He'd have to help educate him in future. Ravenclaws liked that sort of thing, and Boot was a fellow DA member, so he'd help him out. It was only sporting.

Boot had crossed his arms and was looking uncomfortable. "Okay?"

Snape acted as if everything was perfectly normal.

"I'll leave you to explain things after he signs this."

Boot repeated his utterance from before. "Okay?"

A parchment and a quill were thrust into Zacharias' hands.

"The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?" Zacharias asked in confusion.

Snape gave Zacharias what was apparently meant to be an encouraging smile. It wasn't really, but Zacharias wasn't too fussed about it. At least the man had tried.

"A fitting place for a descendent of one of the school founders. Not everyone is a member, Smith," Snape assured him.

Someone in the common room snorted and Snape cut them a glare. The meek, 'Sorry, Professor!' in response ended any more foolishness of that sort. As well it should, Zacharias thought.

"Well, I should hope not, Professor!" Zacharias responded indignantly.

"Exactly. Sign it and join the lucky few. Not even most of this lot of dunderheads is in it."

"I'm honored, sir. Really. I certainly won't let you down," Zacharias responded importantly. "My family always does what's for the good of the school."

This was sort of touching, but nothing less than what he deserved. Zacharias motioned for Boot to turn around. Even though the other boy rolled his eyes at him, he complied at a look from Snape, and then let Zacharias sign the form on his back.

Snape smirked at him. "Indeed, Mr. Smith. For the good of the school." After snatching the parchment and quill back, he swept out of the common room in a dramatic swirl of black robes.

Zacharias was left looking at Terry Boot, and everyone else was staring at the two of them in eerie silence. Ravenclaws were decidedly weird.

Boot looked awkward. "Right. Well, let's leave and go discuss things. Yeah?"

"The two of you are sad bastards," a girl that Zacharias recognized from their year called out from the other side of the room.

"And you're a minger, Morag, but you don't hear me making a fuss of having to look at your face every day," Boot responded in a huff.

Zacharias placed a hand on Boot's shoulder. "Don't mind them, Boot. They're just jealous."

Boot quickly dragged him out of the Ravenclaw Common Room just when things were starting to get interesting. Zacharias would have loved to have stayed to get into things, because never let it be said that he didn't love a good debate. However, his contemplation of the love of arguing was interrupted when he noticed that the first year boy was still out in the corridor.

"Come back, Professor! Come back! I can't get in! Shouldn't _someone_ let me in? I'm pants at riddles!"

Boot looked at him in pity. "Tough break, Rogers. Ravenclaw Rules. It's sink or swim in this house."

"Yeah, firstie. Too bad you had to be randomly placed in Ravenclaw. I noticed this house was a poor fit for you. Not everyone is cut out for Hufflepuff though," Zacharias opined before turning back to Boot. "So, what does our privileged weekly task consist of?"

For some reason Zacharias couldn't discern, Boot just shook his head at him. It seemed everything generated more questions in his life. Everything.


	6. Academic Club Sponsor

**Chapter 6: Academic Club Sponsor**

The December morning had started off so well, right up to the part where Severus actually sat down to eat his breakfast. The staff table had its own unofficial assigned seating, and Severus was perfectly pleased with the status quo. Sure, Minerva usually talked nonstop on one side, but the other side usually held Pomona, and she didn't like to attempt conversation with him at all, which suited Severus just fine. However, it was only when he went to pick up his coffee mug that he noticed Albus Dumbledore in Pomona Sprout's usual spot.

He gave an internal sigh. He would _not_ give Albus the satisfaction of breaking the silence first. Whatever game the old man was up to, he would not win. He saw Albus glance at him from the corner of his eye and he pretended not to see it. Albus cleared his throat. The old man was crafty. Severus deliberately buttered his toast and then stuffed a piece in his mouth.

Albus spoke around Severus. "So, Minerva—"

Minerva peeked around Severus to look at Albus. "Yes?"

"I was thinking we needed a new academic club."

"Well," the witch responded. "It will need a staff sponsor."

In typical Albus Dumbledore fashion the old man inflected that smug little amused tone into his speech. "Quite."

Severus resolutely stared straight ahead while the two had their conversation. A conversation which, incidentally, could have been had more easily if Dumbledore had chosen to sit in his usual seat, as it was conveniently on the other side of Minerva. He took another bite of toast and chewed loudly.

"I was thinking a Junior Chapter of The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers," Albus continued blithely.

Severus choked on his toast.

"No, I won't do it," Severus croaked out. "Make Horace do it. He teaches Potions."

"He came out of retirement as a favor to me. It wouldn't be right to ask him to take it on."

"No. We don't need another academic club at this school," Severus insisted. "This school has existed for hundreds of years without that particular club and it can continue existing without it."

It was way too early in the morning for this.

Just then the mail came. He got _The Daily Prophet_ and a letter, which was unusual. Whatever the letter said, Severus would use it as an excuse to leave the table before Albus could make him commit to anything.

"Ah, I've been expecting this letter," Severus said seriously. He made a show of opening it and reading it silently.

_Dear Respected One,_

_Greetings. Permit me to inform you of my desire to go into business relationship with you. I got you contact from the ICW. I prayed over it and selected your name among other names due to it's esteeming nature and the recommendations given to me as a reputable and trustworthy person I can do business with and by the recommendations I must not hesitate to confide in you for this simple and sincere business._

_I am Wumi Abdul; the only daughter of the late Mr. and Mrs. George Abdul. My father was a very wealthy magic carpet merchant wizard in Abidjan, __the economic capital of Ivory Coast before he was poisoned to death by his business associates on one of their outing to discus on a business deal. I am also motherless. Before he died my father secretly called me on his bedside and told me that he has a sum of twelve million galleons left in a suspense account in the local Gringotts bank here in Abidjan, that he used my name as his first daughter for the next of kin in deposit of the fund._

_He also explained to me that it was because of this wealth and some huge amount of galleons his business associates supposed to balance his from the deal they had that he was poisoned by his business associates, that I should seek for a God fearing foreign wizard partner in a country of my choice where I will transfer this money and use it for investment purpose, (such as real estate management). Sir, we are honourably seeking your assistance in the following ways._

_1) To provide a Bank account where this money would be transferred to._

_2) To serve as the guardian of this since I am a witch girl of 26 years._

_Moreover Sir, we are willing to offer you 15% of the sum as compensation for effort input after the successful transfer of this fund to your designate account overseas. please feel free to contact me via this owl address _

_wumi1000abdul_

_Anticipating to hear from you soon. _

_Thanks and God Bless. _

_Best regards. _

_Miss Wumi Abdul_

Severus shook his head seriously. "This is serious. I need to go respond to this right away."

Albus looked worried. "Is it?"

Severus nodded. "Yes."

What he hadn't expected was for Minerva to have slyly read over his shoulder.

"It's one of those Nigerian owl scams. I usually cast Incendio on mine."

Severus sent a baleful glare to the meddling Head of Gryffindor. "Do you mind? It's against the law to read other people's mail, Minerva."

Minerva gave him a smirk.

Albus leaned into his personal space. "I know you have student assistants."

This was a really uncomfortable conversation. Severus was seated between two do-gooder Gryffindors with no escape.

"I don't even like students. Why would I have any as assistants? I know you've forbidden them. Besides, that's what—" Severus trailed off. He couldn't finish that sentence the way he wanted to. He had been going to say, 'Besides that's what detention is for.' However, it dawned on him too late that Albus didn't approve of detentions being used to get work done either. Bollocks to that.

One glance at Albus confirmed the man didn't buy his tale anyway. All Severus wanted to know was which of his little victims had snitched.

"Who was it?"

"You got sloppy this time, Severus," Dumbledore chided. "After your performance in the Ravenclaw Common Room, you didn't expect that I wouldn't have at least one tattling student?"

So, it wasn't one of his victims after all.

Severus shrugged noncommittally. "Who?"

"Morag McDougal and Su Li were both quite upset over their E's in Potions last year," Albus concluded.

Severus sneered. "Those two dunderheads don't know the first thing about _real _potioneering."

They would also both regret crossing his student assistants, if Severus had anything to say about it. He would find an excuse to put them in detention now. Ravenclaw would be out of the running for the House Cup quite soon.

"Oh, here we go again," Minerva muttered with a snicker. "Bottling fame, brewing glory…"

Severus turned back to Minerva. "At least I never had to resort to coughing up hairballs in an attempt to impress students."

Albus intervened before the two of them started a huge row. "Severus, you'll sponsor the students in a proper club and you'll stop making them do things for you. It's all been sorted with the Society anyway. They were very excited to hear about it. They even have academic competitions with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang planned."

Severus was legitimately horrified at this news. This was the most intolerable news he had heard since learning Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts.

Severus looked at Albus Dumbledore pleadingly. "Why do you hate me so?"

Things had been going swimmingly. His student assistants had been adequately assisting, leaving Severus free time to do things such as harass Draco Malfoy and take points from Gryffindor. It had all been working out beautifully.

Albus ignored his pleas and Minerva was still snickering.

"They expect fundraising to be done as well- and you can't go to the competitions without it."

Severus really hated Gryffindors. He truly did. This was turning out to be a real disaster. However, if he had to be miserable, then the students were definitely going to be miserable too. He had owls to send to his little minions.

As it was a Saturday, Severus had informed his student assistants to meet him in his classroom directly after lunch. He could hear them arguing with each other all the way down the corridor.

"What are _you_ doing here Mudblood?" Parkinson's nasally voice screeched.

"Now, Parkinson, we call them Muggleborns now, you know," Smith's self-important voice could be heard chiding her.

He heard Granger's distinctive sniff of derision. "Resorting to name calling doesn't change the fact that I'm ranked first in our class. _Again._"

"Smith, budge up, I can't sit next to Mudbloods. I might catch something," Parkinson continued.

"Oi! Who are you calling Mudblood, you daft bint?" Boot interjected.

Severus slammed the door open and quickly walked to the front of the classroom. To his satisfaction, they immediately fell silent.

Severus looked at each of them in turn. "I called you here today because all of you achieved an O on your Potions O.W.L.s." He paused for dramatic effect and did his best Albus Dumbledore impersonation. "Yes, well done students." He clapped mockingly three times. "The Headmaster has decided that our common membership in a certain organization has now doomed us all to participating in an academic club, which has also effectively ended the student assisting part of our agreement. I am, _unfortunately_, your staff sponsor. And we must…compete."

They all looked as appalled, shocked, and horrified as Severus felt. Good.

"I can't be seen participating in an academic club!" Pansy Parkinson exclaimed. "Especially not with them!"

Severus cut off the complaining at its head, especially as the rest of them looked ready to jump on the bandwagon. "You can and you will! We have no choice. The Headmaster has also decided that we have to do fundraising. However, we have an even bigger problem."

Severus pointed his wand at the chalkboard and the chalk began writing in his distinctive scrawl. "We don't want our little Junior Chapter of The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers to get any larger. _Do_ we?" His question was a threat and meant to be rhetorical, but he should have expected Granger to reply.

"Why not, Professor?" the bushy-haired know-it-all asked.

He pointed at the chalkboard. "What you see before you is a list of those students who Professor Slughorn has been attempting to lure into this organization with his little candlelight suppers." He paused so they could read.

Blaise Zabini, Cormac McLaggen, Flora and Hestia Carrow, Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Melinda Bobbin were the names that all stood out prominently.

"As you can see, Granger is one of ours, but the rest are wild cards. However, I think we can safely eliminate Zabini and the Carrows as they wouldn't want to be associated with an academic club either. I think we can also safely assume that Weasley and Potter are too Quidditch crazed to broaden their horizons." The eraser lifted itself and erased those names he mentioned. "This leaves only McLaggen and Bobbin as our main contenders. Bobbin's family owns a chain of apothecaries. I think she's a real threat."

Terry Boot raised his hand. "Professor, I know for a fact that Bobbin hates Potions. She's planning on becoming a dragon tamer when she leaves school."

Severus nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Good, that leaves only McLaggen as a potential problem, and we definitely _don't_ want McLaggen in our club."

"Well, I don't see why not, Professor. I think he's a bit dishy," Parkinson said with an annoying giggle.

"As far as Gryffindors go, McLaggen is one of the few I can tolerate, Professor," Smith added. "Not at all like those Weasleys or Potter. In fact, we've had discussions about our mutual dislike of the Weasleys."

Severus noticed that Granger shot Smith an irritated glare at that remark.

Boot shrugged. "I don't know the bloke, so it doesn't matter to me either way."

"Well, I agree with Professor Snape," Granger said snippily. "We certainly do _not_ want McLaggen here with us."

Severus gave Granger a smirk. "I'm so glad you feel that way Miss Granger, because it is your job to make sure McLaggen never becomes a member of this Society."

Granger spluttered beautifully. "How am I expected to do _that?_"

"Well, you kept him from getting on the Gryffindor Qudditch team, so I expect you'll have no issues with keeping him out of this academic club," Severus informed her nastily.

Severus took great satisfaction in seeing all of the blood drain from Granger's face.

"I did not," she said shrilly.

"Just because the Quidditch pitch doesn't appear to have adult supervision during tryouts and practices doesn't mean we don't have spells set up to monitor everything," Severus said smugly. "Had Gryffindor lost that match, I would have sent you an official thank you note on behalf of Slytherin House."

The other students were looking at Granger in various degrees of approval. There was approval on Parkinson's part and disapproval on Smith's and Boot's part.

Severus continued his spiel. "So, now you must take one for the team and use your feminine wiles to keep McLaggen where we want him."

"Feminine wiles!" Granger exclaimed in horror. _"Professor!"_

"You will go with McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party, Miss Granger, and you will keep him away from signing anything Slughorn might send his way. And we _will_ be watching," Severus threatened.

"But- but—" Granger stuttered.

"Enough! Five points from Gryffindor. You have your task." Severus turned to Pansy Parkinson. "Parkinson, you will be in charge of fundraising. I want to see results and soon!" He then turned to Boot. "Boot, your job is to find out about our student competition at Beauxbatons." Finally, he turned to Smith. "Smith, you will find out who our competition is from Durmstrang. We may be stuck in this farce, but Hogwarts _will_ win," he stated menacingly. "Dismissed!"

Truthfully, his former student assistants were some of the least dunderheaded students that could be found in all of Hogwarts, so Severus had moderate hopes that they might pull through. However, he wasn't going to hold his breath.

Dinner that evening was as equally entertaining as it was a disaster.

Albus gave Severus a pleased smile that sent chills down his spine before standing up to make an announcement. "If I may have your attention! Before we eat, Miss Parkinson of Slytherin House has a presentation she would like to make on behalf of Hogwarts' newest academic club, the Junior Chapter of The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers!"

While a magical slide projector and screen appeared at the front of the Great Hall, Pansy Parkinson dragged a glowering and pouting Gram Pritchard with her up to the front. The boy was holding a bucket that said _donations_ on the side.

The younger Slytherin boy could be heard whining pathetically. "But Pansy, _why_ do I have to help you?"

The black-haired girl narrowed her eyes at the younger boy. "Because I said so, and you're my cousin, so you have to do what I tell you anyway."

Parkinson gave everyone in the Great Hall a charming smile and then fiddled with the note cards she was holding. She cleared her throat.

"Muggles," she read dully.

A nonmoving photograph of a smiling family in Muggle garb appeared on the projection screen.

"Completely lacking in magic," the girl continued, reading slowly, and directly from her notecards.

This time a photograph of smiling Muggle children appeared.

"It. Is. So." Parkinson paused in the way people do when they can't read their own handwriting. "Sad."

This time there were various random photographs of Muggles in London appearing in quick succession.

"The poor dears. No wands. Just… nothing." Pansy sighed, as if genuinely upset by this information.

This time a picture of two smiling dentists working happily in their office appeared.

A gasp was heard from the Gryffindor table. "How did you get pictures of my parents?" Hermione Granger demanded indignantly.

Pansy Parkinson sent Hermione Granger a vindictive smirk, but otherwise ignored her outburst.

Then there was a succession of photographs of Hermione's family over the years, finally stopping at a picture of a younger and very bucktoothed Hermione Granger in between her smiling parents.

"Help these unfortunate Muggles." Pansy's voice took on a pleading tone. "For every galleon you donate to our academic club, a sickle will go towards the amazing charity, Fake Wands For Muggles. They truly do need our help. Thank you."

Parkinson proceeded to elbow Gram Pritchard to take his collection bucket up and down the tables in the Great Hall, while Pansy basked in the enthusiastic applause from the Slytherin table.

"I'll kill you!" Granger shouted to Parkinson across the Great Hall. "Don't think I won't, Parkinson!"

It took both Potter and Ginny Weasley to calm the girl down and drag her out of the Great Hall.

Severus shook his head in exasperation. "Gryffindors." He took a bite of his roast beef, which was quite good, only to have the feeling that he was being watched. He looked up, only to discover that most of his fellow staff members were giving him the stink eye. "What?"

"Severus Snape!" Minerva exclaimed.

Severus raised his chin defiantly. "I had nothing to do with that."

"You're the staff sponsor!" Minerva admonished.

"I told Parkinson to fundraise. I didn't give her parameters."

His Slytherins tended to get better results when their creative juices weren't stifled. He looked out at the Great Hall. If you didn't count the Muggleborn students, the bucket was being filled. However, Severus ascertained that it might not be the best time to point that out to his co-workers.

Minerva sniffed. "Well, do so next time."

"I'll take it under consideration."

Before he knew it, Slughorn's Christmas Party had come and gone, and Severus was glad to see it behind him. Draco Malfoy had proved difficult, but it had been more than amusing watching the Granger girl attempt to escape Cormac McLaggen's clutches all evening. No worries there.

Slughorn had been insinuating that he had had success getting adult members into the club, though Severus didn't know for sure. It was killing him to not know.

Unfortunately, the Society had owled him and the students, telling them that they were expected to be at the Leaky Cauldron on New Year's Day for their first academic competition. Suffice it to say, this was _not_ how Severus had planned on spending his holiday.

Severus gave Terry Boot one of his trademark glares from their table in the Leaky Cauldron's meeting room. "Well, what did you find out?"

Boot looked apologetic. "I tried owling some of the students who came for the Triwizard Tournament, but they weren't talking. Professor, it doesn't seem like anyone cares about a potioneering competition."

Severus sighed and looked at Smith. "Let's hope you had better luck."

Smith looked pleased with himself. "Boris is asthmatic and Alexi is allergic to kneazles."

"That's it?" Severus asked incredulously. "That's all you found out?"

Suddenly Parkinson started laughing and pointing. "Ha, ha, ha! Did you see those Beauxbatons students? I can see why they weren't allowed out of the Palace for the Triwizard Tournament."

Despite himself, Severus looked over at the Beauxbatons table. All of the students looked scrawny and one even had torturous looking dental headgear. The Durmstrang table was no better, with one student holding on tightly to what looked like the Wizarding version of an Epipen.

Severus turned his attention to Granger. "For the quizbowl portion, you will be the team captain. With how quickly you raise your hand in class, you should have no trouble hitting the buzzer. Now's your chance, Granger. Don't mess this up."

"Well," The know-it-all said. "Of course, we'll be fine there. I reviewed all of our Potions course material endlessly during the break. At least when I wasn't being mauled by McLaggen under the mistletoe."

Granger's little glare didn't affect Severus in the least.

In the end, Hogwarts had won. Granger eviscerated the competition in the quizbowl portion and they tied with Durmstrang in the brewing portion. Beauxbatons gained an Honorable Mention thus ensuring that all of the students wound up getting ribbons, which Severus thought was ridiculous. Losers were losers.

However, the best part came at the end, when bow-tie man called Severus up to the stage.

"Now, at our annual meeting, Severus Snape was given the opportunity to win a barrel of Old Ogden's Firewhisky, as long as he brought more members into our Society than Horace Slughorn. Well, it appears that while Slughorn brought in two new members, Severus here brought in four! So, congratulations Severus Snape! You've won the prize!"

Bow-tie man handed Severus a gold embossed voucher for his tour of the distillery and to redeem his barrel of whisky. It was even signed by Tiberius Ogden himself! Severus smiled happily for the first time in years and even shook bow-tie man's hand and let them take his picture.

He practically skipped back to the table where the Hogwarts students were sitting. He ignored their glares and their crossed arms. It didn't matter.

"I've got a golden ticket!" Severus laughed delightedly and gave his students a genuine smile. "Can you believe it? _Me!_ A golden ticket!" He kissed his golden ticket.

Vaguely, he noticed all four of his students giving him wary looks. However, life was good, so it didn't matter. The precious lambs. Severus couldn't restrain himself and gave them all hugs, much to their horror.

"No," Hermione Granger stated. "Please, Professor, don't _ever_ do that again."

"Professor Snape, you're being very creepy," Pansy Parkinson added.

"Did someone slip you a hallucinogenic potion, Professor Snape?" Terry Boot asked.

Smith asked the hard question. "We've been scammed, haven't we?"

Severus pinched his cheek with something akin to affection. "I have a golden ticket, Mr. Smith, and I was willing to do _anything_ to achieve it. Of _course_ I scammed you." Severus pointed to himself. "Slytherin."


End file.
